


thnks fr th brnch

by TearCatcher



Series: Pete tweets [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 07:38:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12677382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearCatcher/pseuds/TearCatcher
Summary: Inspired by Pete tweeting about brunch: “Brunch is more than just the food for me it’s like the booziness, hanging with my family and the standing around waiting to get a table.” So of course I started thinking about Pete being all tipsy and cute at brunch, accompanied by a long-suffering yet indulgent Patrick





	thnks fr th brnch

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=volkw2)

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=jkvj92)

“I love brunch!” Pete proclaims after he’s made his way to Patrick through the throng of people, carefully carrying two champagne flutes. 

Patrick does not love brunch. He does, however, love Pete, and Pete’s idea of a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon is to stand around waiting for a table at a trendy restaurant. They were told it would be at least twenty minutes (which Patrick automatically doubled in his head), but they were welcome to get a drink in the meantime.

Patrick accepts one of the flutes from Pete and sniffs the orange liquid dubiously. “What is it?” he asks.

“A mimosa,” Pete replies. “Champagne and orange juice.”

Patrick tries a sip and smacks his lips distastefully, finding it too sweet for his liking. It’s far too early for alcohol anyway, especially when he hasn’t eaten anything.

Pete seems to have no such qualms. He downs half his glass in a couple minutes, and Patrick can tell he’s feeling it already by the way his volume has increased.

“Remember the first time the record label sent us champagne?” Pete asks, and Patrick instantly chuckles at the memory. By the time they’re done reminiscing, Pete’s glass is empty, and he notices Patrick’s isn’t.

“Aren’t you gonna drink your mimosa?” Pete demands, frowning because he hates it when Patrick doesn’t like something he brought him.

Patrick explains he’d rather wait until he has some food in his stomach, and Pete seems satisfied with his explanation. “I’ll drink yours,” he offers.

Patrick hands it over. “Don’t drink this one so fast,” he admonishes. Pete smiles at him sheepishly, raising the glass to him.

By the time they’re called for their table, Pete has helped a child next to him conquer a particularly difficult level of Angry Birds, taken a photo with a woman who recognized him but didn’t seem to know who Patrick was, and started on his third mimosa.

“Oh my _god_ everything sounds so good,” Pete says, rubbing his hands together excitedly as he looks at the menu. “What are you gonna get?”

Patrick examines the choices before him, longing for simple menu of the Midwestern pancake houses he went to when he was growing up. “I don’t know, probably some crepes.”

“Ooh this egg sandwich sounds good - like a grownup version of an Egg McMuffin!” Pete exclaims, and Patrick narrows his eyes and shushes him.

“Sorry,” Pete says with a giggle. “It’s just I love brunch!”

“Yes, you mentioned that earlier,” Patrick remarks drily, hoping an egg sandwich will help soak up some of the alcohol in Pete’s stomach. He scans the restaurant for their server, and changes his mind about getting a bloody mary with his meal, figuring he needs to be stone-cold sober to deal with Pete at this point. Once the food arrives, he has to admit his crepes are fantastic.

Pete seems thrilled with his own choice. “What even is the sauce they put on this? It’s so good!” Pete raves as he chews.

“Whatever it is, it’s on the front of your shirt,” Patrick informs him.

Pete gasps, scrambling for his napkin. “This is Gucci!” he wails, and Patrick hides his smirk as he watches Pete dip his napkin in his water glass and scrub at the spot frantically. Patrick hates that fucking shirt.

Pete manages to keep the rest of his meal off his clothes, despite how eagerly and quickly he consumes it. He cuts off Patrick when he tries to decline the server’s offer of dessert.

“You don’t get dessert after breakfast, but you can after brunch!” he says gleefully as he digs into his chocolate tart. “I love brunch!”

Patrick reaches across the table to wipe off the chocolate that has somehow ended up below Pete’s eye. He smiles at him fondly. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Aren’t you?” Pete asks through a mouthful of tart.

“Yes, I am,” Patrick assures him, and it’s absolutely true. Pete beams at him.

After they’ve left the restaurant and Pete has flopped into the passenger seat of the car, he asks, “Hey, can we go to Starbucks?”

“I just took you to brunch!” Patrick exclaims.

“And I loved it!” Pete says. “But I didn’t get a chance to have coffee.”

“You were too busy drinking mimosas,” Patrick mutters, but he heads in the direction to accommodate Pete’s request.

Patrick navigates the omnipresent L.A. traffic while Pete boisterously sings along with the radio in the off-key voice that never fails to make Patrick’s heart swell. When he gets quiet, Patrick glances over and sees he has his phone in front of him and he’s raising his eyebrows exaggeratedly.

“Pete, what are you doing?” Patrick asks reproachfully, recognizing a Snapchat move when he sees one. One of his Pete-wrangling duties is to ensure he doesn’t post anything too ridiculous or incriminating while under the influence. Stuff still manages to get by sometimes, but Pete is good about letting Patrick be his social media editor.

“This is how I feel every time I look at you,” Pete says, thrusting his phone into Patrick’s face to reveal a video snippet of him with hearts orbiting his head.

Patrick rolls his eyes, but he’s charmed despite himself. He accepted long ago that a part of Pete will always be a 14-year-old girl.

In the Starbucks drive thru, Pete unbuckles his seatbelt and leans across Patrick, shouting at the speaker, “I want a triple grande nonfat white chocolate iced latte, please.” Patrick doesn’t order for Pete at Starbucks if he can help it, although his orders these days are miles away from the Venti caffeine- and sugar-laden abominations he used to get. Pete starts to back into his own seat, only to suddenly lunge toward the speaker again, causing Patrick to let out a startled “oof!” when he jabs him in the stomach. “And I want three -” he holds up three fingers, as if the drive thru worker can see him “ - cake pops.”

“Cake pops?!” Patrick asks incredulously. Pete is going to end up in a sugar coma before this day is over.

“For later,” Pete says before assuring him, “You’ll be happy I got them.”

The rest of the drive home, Pete leans as far onto Patrick’s shoulder as his seatbelt will allow and slurps at his drink, humming tunelessly with the music. “I wanted to go over that merch contract after brunch,” he muses, although he doesn’t sound all that concerned.

“How about we watch a movie when we get home instead?” Patrick counters, thinking it would be nice to snuggle without having to be behind the wheel of a vehicle. Pete is quick to agree.

Once home, Pete changes into a comfortable t-shirt that is free of mustard aioli and sprawls out on the couch. Patrick puts on _Aliens_ and joins him, Pete immediately making his lap a headrest, curling his arm around his thigh. Patrick alternates running his fingers over Pete’s scalp on the sides of his head and stroking the longer sections of his hair. Pete lets out a long, contented sigh and Patrick chuckles softly. “Feeling pretty good, babe?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Pete says dreamily, nuzzling Patrick’s leg. “I love brunch.”

Pete’s way more relaxed than his usual highly-wound self - Patrick can tell just by the way his body is loose up against him. He may even be able to fall asleep in this state. He just needs a bit more of a nudge...

“Hey, where are you going?” Pete asks, a hint of alarm in his voice when Patrick starts to gently ease himself out from under him.

“Nowhere,” Patrick assures him quietly, placing a throw pillow under Pete’s head as a substitute for his lap.

Pete starts to protest, but as soon as he feels Patrick’s hands at his waistband, he understands.

Patrick takes his time, covering Pete’s thighs and hips with open-mouthed kisses and the gentlest sucks until Pete is softly begging, “Please, _please_ , Patrick.” Patrick isn’t trying to tease, so he’s quick to oblige. Pete bucks his hips slowly, languidly matching the rhythm of Patrick’s mouth, one hand loosely entwined in Patrick’s hair, the other gripping the back of the couch. When he comes, it’s with a soft, long moan that is about the most musical sound Patrick has ever heard his voice make. He stretches his arms out for Patrick, eyelids fluttering as he struggles to open them, and Patrick goes to him, snuggling up against his chest and leaving a kiss on the underside of his jaw.

“Now it’s your turn,” Pete mumbles, but he doesn’t move.

“You can get me later,” Patrick assures him, kissing the side of his neck.

“But you made me feel so good…” Pete trails off, clearly not intending to put up much of a fight.

“You make me feel good all the time,” Patrick says soothingly. “I can wait.”

Pete lets out a long sigh, and Patrick stays where he is, enjoying the pleasant, familiar weight of Pete’s arms around him, until Pete’s grip loosens and there’s a light snore coming from the back of his throat. Patrick slithers out of Pete’s arms and grabs a throw blanket from the basket at the end of the couch, draping it over his sleeping form before standing there to admire him for a moment. Pete’s face is relaxed, his eyebrows have lost the almost permanent tension they carry, and his lush, full mouth is slightly parted, making him look years younger than he is. Patrick reaches down to stroke one round cheek reverently with his thumb before turning the volume down on the tv and creeping off to his studio, making a stop at the kitchen to grab a cake pop on the way. It’s still early on a Sunday, the house is quiet, and Patrick is guaranteed to have several hours to himself. 

Patrick loves brunch.

**Author's Note:**

> I could possibly make a habit out of writing ficlets inspired by Pete tweets :)


End file.
